Need You Now
by borderfame-sabrestar
Summary: It's just one of those nights when they can't ignore their emotions anymore, and both Fred and Hermione realise what it is they need - but it's the one thing they just can't have.


This is a songfic of 'Need You Now' by Lady Antebellum – but for the record, I prefer the cover by Sparks the Rescue. Don't tell :) haha. I heard this song ages ago and I thought it would be a good song for a whole lot of different pairings I like – Tonks and Remus, Neville and Luna, Draco and Hermione and even a Supernatural crossover with Dean and Hermione (just because of the whiskey reference) but I settled at last on Fred and Hermione, just because I think they are perfect for each other, and in the end it can still be canon. So here goes, a FW/HG songfic for you darlings.

* * *

><p><strong>Need You Now<strong>

Fred/Hermione

* * *

><p><em>Picture perfect memories scattered all around the floor<em>

It was the combination of the hot tears and the shuddering sighs that set her off again. It was like she was past knowing what it was she was crying about and now it was just tears, tears, tears, crying because she was sad and she couldn't even remember why. But then she glanced at one of the pictures on the bed, and she saw his sparkling eyes as he smiled up at her, and another sob escaped her.

_Reaching for the phone 'cause I can't fight it anymore_

She had tried to occupy herself that evening, reading her books and practicing her spells, but Ron and Harry had gone out to keep watch for the night. She had nearly reached for her wand, feeling the urge to apparate to Muriel's house so she could see him. God, it had been weeks. Months. She couldn't even remember.

_And I wonder if I ever cross your mind  
>For me it happens all the time<em>

But instead of apparating, she had pulled the little box out of her bag, and opened it up for the first time in weeks. In there were a few different things – a ring, a feather, a pressed flower on a piece of cardboard. But underneath all of that were the pictures – god, the pictures. He had found a god damn Polaroid camera in his dad's shed and forced Hermione to teach him how to use it, and then they had processed them using the magical technique so the pictures would move. And there he was, his bright green eyes, his messy red hair tousled by the wind as they had wandered around the lake, taking photos of everything, photos of each other. There was one picture that he had taken of them both, and every now and then in the picture, he would try to kiss her and she would smile and tell him off, saying that somebody might see them – but the smile on her face was just an invitation, saying 'please kiss me, Fred'.

Hermione stared at the pictures and felt fresh tears flowing over her eyelids, blurring her vision.

_It's a quarter after one, I'm all alone  
>And I need you now<em>

She missed him so much. She hadn't told Ron or Harry about her relationship with Fred – for the most part, she'd wanted to keep it a secret because she knew that they would be forced apart sooner or later. She knew the war would throw them around like ragdolls, would trap them in a gradual downwards spiral if they tried to stay together. Fred knew as well as she did that they couldn't be together until it was all over. So they had decided to forget about each other for a while, a very mature, mutual decision to take a break and concentrate on saving the world, on staying alive.

_Said I wouldn't call, but I've lost all control  
>And I need you now<em>

But right now, Hermione felt that she'd rather die than be without Fred for another minute.

So she gathered up the box's contents, placing the photographs back in the bottom underneath the various other ornaments that she'd collected, symbols of her time with Fred, and she reached for her notebook and quill and began to write a letter.

_And I don't know how I can do without  
>I just need you now<em>

* * *

><p>It was late when Fred found the letter waiting on the bench. Muriel was already in bed, and George had told him it had arrived in the mail earlier that day. When Fred saw the handwriting on the front, he felt the urge to yell at his brother, demand to know why he hadn't told him earlier that it had arrived – but he figured it would do no good. It wasn't like George knew about her.<p>

_Another shot of whiskey, can't stop looking at the door_

It was only after he read the letter and he had tears creeping from the corner of his eyes, burning a hot path down his cheeks that he realised how much emotion he had forced himself to suppress. He had forced himself to forget because that was supposed to be easier, but seeing those words, hearing her voice in his head, and seeing that photograph she had sent him – it made his heart ache like nothing he had ever felt before. He took another gulp of his whiskey and let the tears run.

_Wishing you'd come sweeping in the way you did before_

The things she had written – the way she said she was sorry, she knew she shouldn't be writing to him but she just couldn't pretend she was okay. She missed him, she wanted to be with him, she needed him with her. Weak, sad, lonely – it was like she had read his mind and written it out on the page. He wanted so badly to know where she was, so he could go to her and hold her close.

_And I wonder if I ever cross your mind  
>For me it happens all the time<em>

He was afraid she would be able to leave him behind, and that he would lose her. But she wasn't lost. Not really. And for the first time, those questions were answered, the nagging questions that had been at the back of his mind for weeks – and the answer was yes. She had definitely been thinking about him, even though she said she wouldn't.

_It's a quarter after one, I'm a little drunk  
>And I need you now<em>

Fred wished she was there. But it was just the way it had to be – he had to leave her alone. If he gave away her location he would risk her life, and it really didn't matter how much he loved her, it wouldn't matter if she was dead. He just needed her more than he was prepared to admit to himself or to anyone. He needed her so badly.

_Said I wouldn't call but I've lost all control  
>And I need you now<em>

Fred picked up the Polaroid picture – it was at the Burrow, one summer when the others had gone down on a day trip to Diagon Alley, but Hermione had fallen sick with a fever. Fred had opted to stay with her, because he wasn't feeling too well either – at least that what he told Molly. They had gone down to the shed, and he had shown her the camera, and taken a photo of them with it. There was so much junk and crap in the background, but her wonderfully warm amber eyes seemed to stare right at him through the photograph, and the way they laughed and smiled in the image made the edges of Fred's lips creep upwards for a moment – until he remembered that she wasn't there with him anymore.

It was all just memories.

_And I don't know how I can do without  
>I just need you now<em>

And all he wanted, all he needed, was Hermione. All of the need he had repressed was now flowing out, his heart burning for her, his hands itching to touch her soft, warm skin, tangle in her messy hair, and he wondered if she was missing him right now, the same way she was when she had written that letter. He wondered if this hurt her half as much as it was hurting him.

_Guess I'd rather hurt than feel nothing at all...  
><em>


End file.
